


Five Scars Ray Kowalski Might Have

by Kass



Category: due South
Genre: 5 Things, DS_Flashfiction, Drabble Sequence, M/M, scars challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-07
Updated: 2009-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When something's been frozen, sometimes thawing hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Scars Ray Kowalski Might Have

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the scars challenge at DS_Flashfic.

  
I.

The first time Stella broke up with him, Ray thought about cutting himself. He was twelve.

It wasn't that he wanted to die; he didn't even like pain. He was just broken.

He didn't want to talk. (Who would he have talked to? His parents were old and he had no girlfriend.) But he wanted the world to know -- wanted God to know, maybe.

He sat on the fire escape and turned his pocketknife over in his hand. The blade clicked open.

He stared at it.

He scraped a flake of paint off the railing and watched it fall.

  
II.

Jack was flirting with him. Jack's leather jacket was only soft under his arms and by his neck. Jack wanted to suck his dick.

After the third night of jerking off desperately to keep from saying yes, Ray got a tattoo. He spent a while standing outside, looking at the designs in the window, fingering the bills in his pocket.

He wound up with a flame, like on a bike. On his ass, where his jeans would hide it. Mom gave him a dirty look every time they walked past somebody with a tat, like she knew what Ray wanted.

  
III.

Good thing about Kevlar was, it saved your skin. You could still bruise something awful, though: the morning after his first day with the Mountie Ray rolled over groaning.

He cursed when he looked in the mirror. Even though it hurt like a motherfucker, he wasn't ready for the red and yellow and purple spreading from where the bullet hadn't pierced his chest.

Once, Stella would've cried, he thought, turning on the shower and waiting for the steam. Now she wouldn't even know.

That hurt.

Somehow, remembering Fraser's voice helped. His face. How he'd shouted, "Ray!" when the bullet hit.

  
IV.

Their fourth day out was unseasonably cold, Fraser said. Ray couldn't tell the difference, but that night when he peeled away his socks his toes were grey and numb.

Fraser unfastened his flannel and rucked up his riverdriver shirt and made Ray prop his feet against Fraser's chest, closing all the layers back over them like blankets.

It was weird, but kind of sweet. Fraser went on about frostbite, and how valuable toes were. His eyes were warm and he made Ray laugh. He kept talking.

After a while, Ray found himself crying.

When something's been frozen, sometimes thawing hurts.

  
V.

The axe glanced off the green wood and scraped his boot. Thank God for steeltoes: only the leather got scarred.

After that, Ray spent an afternoon with the grindstone. His hands and arms had too many nicks from shitty tools already. You could do serious damage with a bad axe. In summer you could radio the medi-vac, but in winter...

Besides, Fraser would kick his ass. "This body is irreplaceable," he murmured, almost every night.

Ray liked hearing that.


End file.
